Ready to Serve
by Wilsden
Summary: A Happy New Year to all readers and writers! This story is about an unsung hero of C.I.5.


Ready to Serve.

I swung idly from the claws of the crane like some hapless rodent in the talons of an eagle. One talon went through my windscreen, the glass long since gone. The other two held me through the rear driver and passenger windows. Suspended over the crusher below I knew that within seconds I would be released and fall into it to emerge at the other end as a small block of compressed metal, my life over. I wondered, not for the first time, how it had come to this.

There was a sudden shout beneath me and the crane's engine was cut abruptly. I watched the operator step from the cab, turn off the crusher and head in the direction of the voice leaving me dangling precariously in a sudden but short reprieve.

I reflected again on my life in C.I.5 as I looked at London in the distance, shimmering in a heat haze.

I had stood in the yard at the back of the C.I.5 offices and was regarded with some interest by my fellow vehicles. Arriving late last night fresh off the Ford production line I now stood with white paint shining and chrome gleaming full of excitement and anticipation in the weak April sunshine.

"So you haven't been allocated yet then?" It was rather a statement than a question from the red Rover across the yard.

"Allocated?"

A low snigger broke out among the cars around me but the Princess to my left took pity on my naivety.

"Although this is supposed to be a car pool where any agent can use any vehicle you'll find that some seem to use the same car and it unofficially becomes theirs." she explained. "I would think you are a replacement vehicle for an agent named Doyle."

"And that's a good thing?" I ventured and there was another snigger.

"Not if you want to keep your hubcaps!" The Rover's comment brought a further round of laughter to the yard.

"What he means is that this Doyle and his partner Bodie are a bit...how shall I say?...reckless. Actually reckless is perhaps the wrong word. They just seem to always be in the thick of the action. And sometimes they don't even seem to have to be on an assignment for them to face danger. Once Doyle was off duty and out in his own car, a white E Type Jaguar. It became quite a good friend of mine. It was a classic and Doyle loved it." The Princess's voice trailed off wistfully.

"Used to? What happened?"

"It was blown up by a bomb. Doyle only just got out in time."

For the first time since I had arrived I was suddenly frightened. I hadn't realised there was a chance I could die on the job.

"Well what did you think you'd be doing!" exclaimed the Rover, when I gave voice to my fears. "Driving round a little old lady? You're an Escort RS, for goodness sake, you're a vehicle built for action!"

I remembered not being sure I liked the sound of that, not if I could get hurt and what did the RS in my title mean anyway? Suddenly the doors into the yard were swung open and I was introduced to whom I could only assume were Bodie and Doyle. I wasn't too sure about Bodie either. We didn't get off to the best of starts when he kicked me hard in the tyres as they inspected me. Not a good way to introduce yourself.

"Seems okay, Doyle." he said as both agents circled me several times, taking in every detail of my bodywork. "Nice little motor."

"Let's take her for a spin." Doyle suggested. Her? I was a girl?

Both agents got in and Doyle turned on the engine. I saw them smile as I purred enthusiastically before they took me out onto the busy streets of the city. The noise and the amount of fast moving traffic scared me half to death and to my shame I stalled at the gates of the yard. If I was a girl I wasn't doing much for womankind and there was a moment that I wished I was indeed jut ferrying round an old woman who would perhaps not subject me to all this city driving. I remember Bodie laughing as I sat there.

I started to panic as I watched huge red double decker buses and all sorts of lorries and trucks bearing down on me and I refused to start. Perhaps the RS stood for Reluctant to Start, I thought. I vaguely remember Bodie laughing again and asking Doyle if he was sure he could drive, pushing him further down in my estimation. It wasn't Doyle's fault, it was mine. I knew I had to pull myself together and when Doyle turned the key I sparked into life and held my breath as we pulled out and joined the traffic.

After several miles at a sedate pace, largely governed by endless sets of traffic lights I became aware of the thinning traffic and the changing scenery. We appeared to be leaving London.

"Let's see what the old girl can do!" Bodie urged. Old girl indeed! Didn't he know I came with only 14 miles on the clock? I didn't have any time to dwell on his insult as I was turned towards a wet muddy lane and into a disused airfield. I felt both windows and the sunroof open and my accelerator pushed to the floor. As we gathered pace something seemed to happen within me. I had never known such exhilaration as I raced down the wide open expanse of concrete runway. My passengers felt it too and they whooped and screamed as the wind blew through me. Fifty, sixty and then seventy miles an hour and beyond. My God, I was going to blow a gasket or something at this rate! It was all so exciting and I felt in complete control with Doyle at the wheel. I knew then that this was what I was born to do. I was born to be a member of C.I.5 and knew exactly what RS stood for. Ready to Serve. Ready to Serve C.I.5 and Doyle.

I returned to the yard with my once gleaming paintwork now splattered in mud but I didn't care though Doyle got a good natured reprimand from Brian, the chief mechanic at the C.I.5 garage. He fitted me with a radio and a tracker device and in the weeks and months that followed I slipped easily into life and routine with C.I.5. Sometimes the agents used Bodie's Capri, a car I came to know quite well. But this meant that I'd spend a boring day in the yard or I'd sulk outside Doyle's flat, awaiting their return if Bodie had picked him up from there. At other times they would be on surveillance and disappear inside a building for hours, sometimes days. I didn't mind that too much as at least I knew where they were and I waited outside ready to spring into action if needed. But the times I enjoyed the most was when they sat in me and I could listen to their conversations which mainly consisted of being about girls, football and placing bets on horses and greyhounds. I became aware that when they were alone Bodie referred to Doyle as Ray and, feeling a part of the team now, I called him Ray too.

I liked Ray a lot. He made sure I was always full of fuel and had me valeted every once in a while. I needed to be as we both took a dim view of Bodie's eating habits and his ability to get crumbs into places we didn't think possible. However, I forgave him when I realised the extent he would go to ensure Ray's safety and also the obvious affection he had for the man. Anyone going against George Cowley's instructions in order to save Ray took some nerve and warranted my respect and admiration.

Mind you, my life wasn't always plain sailing. Early on in our partnership I limped into the yard in the pouring rain one evening with a slowly deflating tyre and several bullet holes to my front doors where both agents had used them as shields.

"I've been shot!" I exclaimed, feeling thoroughly sorry for myself as the vehicles collected there gasped. I glanced around the yard and Bodie's Capri caught my gaze.

"The Princess and the Rover went out early this morning." he said. "On an assignment I presume. They haven't come back yet. But don't worry about your bullet holes. Brian will deal with them in the morning and you'll be as good as new."

The Princess and the Rover were never to return, nor were they ever spoken about again and the mystery remained as to what had happened to them. The Princess was a great loss to me.

I learnt to live with the ever present threat of damage and pushed aside any thoughts of possibly being written off.

The years of service continued apace and inevitably the stresses and strains of the job began to take its toll. Rust nibbled at my wheel arches and door sills and sometimes the sheer effort of high speed chases were exhausting but I still loved my work as much as I did on that first memorable day.

It was with great relief late one night that Doyle drove me into the C.I.5 yard. He and Bodie disappeared into the building leaving me to recover from an exceptionally physically demanding day. I listened to the sound of my hot engine cooling in the night air. An hour or so later Doyle appeared at my door. I thought we were going home but when he got in he sat there motionless for several minutes and then started to rummage around under the seats, inside the glove box and behind the sun visors. I couldn't think what he'd lost but eventually he stopped his search , got out and uncharacteristically patted my roof.

"You ready?" Bodie's voice startled us both.

"Yeah, I shall be glad to get home. I can't wait for the whole weekend off."

The pair got into Bodie's car and left. Clearly I was to spend the weekend in the yard, not that unusual but a little disheartening. I could see a light on in the office of George Cowley; he was working late again and there were also signs of life in the garage too. Oblivious of what was to come I wasn't unduly disturbed when Brian drove me into the service area and removed the radio and tracker. In my innocence I assumed I was to be fitted with more up to date devices. However, I was returned to my position in the yard without this happening. Before I could ponder this further the floodlights in the yard were turned on and the main gates flung open. The peace was shattered by the arrival of a huge vehicle transporter moving noisily into the yard. Four cars were unloaded and one, a sleek gold Capri, slid in beside me.

"I'm your replacement." he announced.

"What?"

"Your replacement. You're Raymond Doyle's Escort aren't you?"

"Yes, but..." I felt the oil drain from my valves.

"Thought so. That Scottish gentleman said as much when we came in." I looked up to see George Cowley visible among the shadows talking to the transporter driver.

"But there must be some mistake. _I'm _Ra... Doyle's car."

"You were. Not any more." he told me, running his eyes over my body. " You're too old and past it whereas I am younger, faster and let's face it, better looking. Gold is so much more classier than white, and a faded white at that."

Scarcely able to believe what was happening I was dragged up the ramp of the transporter along with three other cars and taken to a salvage yard where we were stripped of everything re useable until I was a shadow of my former self. I had plenty of time to think. It was obvious to me now that Ray was saying goodbye as he sought to look for any personal possessions left in me earlier. And that gentle pat to my roof before he left. It dawned on me too that the Princess and the Rover had met the same fate all those years ago.

I was suddenly brought back to reality by the return of the crane driver. He turned on the crusher which gnashed and pounded in frustration at being kept waiting. The claws opened and I fell with the wind whistling through the skeleton I'd now become.

There was only time to hope that the gold Capri, however full of his own importance, would look after Ray and grow to love him as I did. I wonder if Ray would ever think of me, perhaps when recalling me in the list of vehicles he'd had. I hoped I'd come out favourably in his recollection. Not too bad... for a girl.


End file.
